


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by alliaskofyou, TryingToScribble



Series: Friends, Foes, and Festivities [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Army Doctor John Watson, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Sulking Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:42:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliaskofyou/pseuds/alliaskofyou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToScribble
Summary: Yours, always yours,John





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

12/10/97

_ Sherlock,  _

_ I’m not able to come home for Christmas. Officers with higher ranks than me are requesting leave, and I have to stay behind to monitor the other troops. I’m so sorry. I was so looking forward to finally being home, to being with you. God, it feels like forever since I’ve seen you. I miss you terribly and love you more than I miss you (which is a lot, mind.) Try to get along with Mycroft, even if it’s just for a day. Enjoy Mrs. Hudson’s Christmas dinner. Eat an extra helping for me (no, I’m not trying to manipulate you into eating more...is it working?)  _

_ Yours, always yours, _

_ John _

 

_ \--- _

 

12/24/97

Sherlock clutches John’s letter in a tight grasp, grateful for the cold wind that dries his wet eyes. He wants to toss it in the nearest bin or burn it till he can’t see the words anymore, but it still smells like John’s cologne that he lightly sprays onto his letters ever since John found out Sherlock sprayed it onto his pillow. He teases Sherlock about it, but Sherlock knows he loves the fact that Sherlock misses him that much, as much as he does; but, Sherlock would argue that he misses John more because John has never needed Sherlock, never been lost without Sherlock, never been in pieces without Sherlock. Sherlock remembers too clearly and too often his life before John and he never wants to go back, yet he feels the phantom life take hold in times like these, times where John isn’t here. He turns his collar up against the cold and barrels into 221B. 

 

He knows Mycroft is here by the umbrella he purposefully left leaning against the entrance. Sherlock kicks it over for good measure and here’s Mycroft’s sigh. Sherlock looks up at him. He’s sitting in John’s chair, head turned slightly to briefly glance at Sherlock and then gesture at Sherlock’s chair as if granting him permission to sit. Sherlock refuses to and, instead, sits on the sofa. Mycroft arches an eyebrow.

 

Sherlock glares back. “You have to get him leave.”

 

“Sherlock, I-”

 

“Do it. Please, Mycroft. I won’t ask you for anything else.” 

 

“We both know that’s not tr-”

 

Sherlock scowls and stands up abruptly. “Then get out. If you aren’t ensuring that he comes home, get out.” He barrels past the kitchen and slams his bedroom door. 

 

Mycroft stands, lifts his umbrellas from the floor, and, as he walks down the steps of 221B, pulls out his phone. “Greg? Yes, well no, not all fine. Do you have any cases? It needs to be at least an eight.”

 

\---

 

Greg climbs the steps to the flat, his feet as heavy as his heart. He hears Sherlock tinkering around in the kitchen and takes a brave breath before pushing open the door. Beakers lie everywhere, filled with various undefinable liquids gurgling over the lip. Greg meanders through the maze unable to find Sherlock until he turns and sees him facing the back of the couch, curled into a ball. Greg finds his way to his side and gently pokes him. He receives something akin to a hiss in return. 

 

“I have some cases us at the Yard were too ‘dumb’ to solve.” He sets them on the table before Sherlock. Sherlock remains immovable. “I bet they’re at least a 7. The Jack - the - Ripper - Wannabe is in here and so are a couple Anderson said ‘were impossible to solve’. Maybe you could prove him wrong?” 

 

Sherlock only burrows himself deeper into the couch.

 

Greg pats his shoulder. “I’ll let you know if anything interesting comes up.” 

 

Sherlock grunts his disapproval. 

 

\---

 

12/25/97

 

John enters 221B, excitement burrowing itself into his bones, making him feel more alive than he’s felt in a while. The flat is decorated with twinkling lights that blink at him expectantly. He breathes in deeply, the flat smelling of cinnamon. He notes the candle on the mantelpiece and silently thanks Mrs. Hudson for he’s sure the mysterious liquids in the numerous beakers do not smell appealing. He hears Sherlock before he sees him. He’s huddled beneath a blanket, an almost unidentifiable mass beneath Mrs. Hudson’s quilt, soft snores escaping his open lips. John’s smile is immediate and he his hit quite forcefully with how much he has missed Sherlock. He was aware of it before, most definitely, but as he approaches Sherlock’s mussed curls that stick out from beneath the quilt. John runs his fingers through them and smiles as Sherlock leans into his touch. He places a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s forehead. Gray, confused eyes peer at him; they transform into iridescent blues when Sherlock recognizes it’s him. 

 

“John?” His voice is muddled with sleep, he sits up quickly, the quilt tangling his limbs to the point that he can’t quite stand without John’s removal of the blanket. “John!” His voice is alert and awake now. He throws himself at John and wraps himself around him like a second skin; he buries his head in John’s neck and tightens his hold around John’s shoulders, lifting his legs to wrap themselves around John’s. John staggers at the force with which Sherlock propels himself, but steadies and embraces Sherlock just as tightly. 

 

“I’ve missed you so much. So much.”


End file.
